


you have me, always

by elmshore



Series: Wayhaven Week 2020 [6]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Other, Porn with Feelings, Smut, soft mason but make it sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:01:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25322053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elmshore/pseuds/elmshore
Summary: Cordelia is awoken by yet another nightmare, but this time, Mason is there to help take her mind off things.
Relationships: Detective/Mason (The Wayhaven Chronicles), Female Detective/Mason (The Wayhaven Chronicles)
Series: Wayhaven Week 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1827454
Comments: 4
Kudos: 52





	you have me, always

When she wakes, it is not with a jolt or even a scream, but with slow precision, a pounding heart the only indication something is wrong.

The nightmare pulls her awake quietly, images flitting behind her eyes as she struggles to open them, sleep holding them shut. When she manages to succeed, darkness greets her and she stares up at the ceiling, at the soft glow of the stars and planets she keeps stuck there.

In her chest, her heart is only beginning to slow and there is a dull throb forming at the corners of her temple. Cordelia turns her head and catches sight of the clock, the green digits reading a quarter past three. Frowns, closes her eyes and reopens them, but the numbers remain the same.

Of course they do.

A quiet sigh and she pushes herself up, making sure to take extra care with the arm slung across her middle, returning it to the bed gingerly, as if it were a wounded animal waiting to strike. She shoves the blanket away and turns, slinging her legs over the side of the bed. Feet hit the plush carpet and she lifts a hand, rubs it across her eyes, hard enough to leave her vision blurry, spots dancing before her eyes for a few seconds.

Behind her, a low groan breaks the silence and she tenses, throwing a glance over her shoulder, a smile blooming at the sight.

Mason lies on his side, facing her, covered from the waist down by the duvet, and his arm — the one previously wrapped around her — now occupies her spot, fingers clutching the empty sheets, seeking her warmth. Deep in her chest, a burst of emotion floods through her and she watches him sleep, struck by the stillness of the moment.

He looks so different in sleep. Peaceful, and soft, in a way she rarely sees him. The mask he wears, the one he is so careful to keep up during the day, taken off and tucked away. A strand of dark hair falls between his eyes and she resists the urge to sweep it away. 

No, there’s no need to disturb him.

She stands, pads silently to the door, and slips out, closing it quietly behind her. The rest of her apartment is dark, the blackout curtains she installed doing a fine job of keeping the streetlights out, and she opts to leave it dark, for now. Instead, she relies on memory to weave her way around furniture and to the kitchen.

Along the way, she passes the couch and reaches for the back of it, fingers sliding through warm fur. Galileo doesn’t wake, only lets out a quiet  _ mrrrp _ , and she smiles, continuing on.

As she reaches the kitchen doorway, she pauses and a hand shoots out, gropes along the left wall. Feeling the switch, she flicks it on and squeezes her eyes shut, the light temporarily blinding her. A few seconds to steady herself and then she opens them, spots twinkling in her vision. She blinks rapidly, adjusting herself to the sudden light, and steps into the room, the bare floor sending a chill racing up her spine.

Cordelia makes for the sink. Turns on the tap and cups her hands beneath the running water, gathers it up and leans down, splashing it onto her face. Repeats the action once more, then again, for good measure. Pulls up, cold droplets tricking down the side of her neck and shudders, relishing the feeling.

It means she’s here, awake and alive.

Fingers twist off the tap and then reach for one of the towels folded on the counter. She drags it across her face and over her neck, only to pause mid-way through. Sighs, heavy and tired, body slumping forward. 

Whatever alertness the water brought is fading now and all she is left with is a weariness, one that is, by this point, entirely too familiar.

Throwing the towel back where she got it, Cordelia grips the edge of the counter and closes her eyes, immediately wishing she hadn’t. Images once again burst to life behind her eyelids, clear as day, giving her no choice but to see them, to remember.

That face, cold and twisted. Dead eyes and sharp fangs and a smile so deranged, so broken. Blood, more than there should be, everywhere — surrounding her and drowning her, one her hands and on her tongue, that coppery taste lingering even now — and the sound of his voice, like nails scratching a chalkboard. Calling her name, as if he has any right to use it.

Months have passed since she last saw him in person, but with every dream, it feels as if he is still here. Still with her. Cordelia doubts she will ever  _ truly _ be rid of him.

No, he is like a ghost. Her own personal demon, possessing her mind, living in her veins and clutching onto her memory, taunting her with his presence.  _ I’ll always be a part of you _ , he sings from that dark corner of her head where he resides.

Shakily, she lifts a hand and brushes a finger over the scar, shuddering once more. Swallows down the bile threatening to rise in her throat. Yanks her hand away and slams it back against the counter, ignoring the shock of pain this sends rippling up her arm. Tells herself, over and over, that it isn’t real. 

He is gone. She is safe. He cannot get her now, not here, and she will not let him win. 

Cannot let him beat her.

“Everything ok?”

A voice fills the small space, low and rough from sleep, and she starts. Twists around and finds Mason leaning against the short island, eyes trained on her, brows drawn in worry. 

He’s wearing only a pair of loose, black pants, and they hang at his hips, obviously tugged on with little thought. His chest is bare, as are his feet, and his dark hair falls messily to his shoulders — that one strand no longer hangs between his eyes, and she finds that she misses it. Leaning there, arms crossed, he looks so utterly at home in this space and that thought alone is enough to send a flood of relief through her.

He is here, with her. She is safe.

Cordelia draws in a breath and turns back around, eyes closing, trying to find the right words. “Yeah, everything’s fine,” she says finally, relieved to hear her voice is steady and collected. “Did I wake you? I didn’t mean to.”

Arms slide around her waist and she feels her body relax at his touch. “Bed got cold,” he murmurs, soft lips brushing against her ear, and she hums, understanding the meaning. Leans back into him and allows him to anchor her in this moment, this reality.

“Another nightmare?”

She nods, hands slipping away from the counter and rising to settle atop his arms, the warmth of him seeping into her. Mason says nothing in response and she is grateful — he never asks her about the dreams, never pushes her to speak of them or to dwell on them. Oh, he listens whenever she does speak of them, always listens when she talks, but he never expects her to.

And that’s the heart of it, isn’t it? Mason never expects anything from her, doesn’t ask for more than she is willing to give. There is no need for masks between them, not now, and they are content to accept what the other offers. Even now, she marvels at the quiet beauty of this relationship they have built, slow and steady, together.

Then, his fingers spread across her stomach, hot through the fabric of her shirt, and she is brought skidding out of her thoughts.

“See you’ve stolen  _ another _ shirt of mine.”

“I didn’t steal it,” she corrects, twists her head back to look at him, and smiles. “I’m simply borrowing it.”

“Right, borrowing with no intention of returning, is it?”

“Got it in one,” she laughs and turns back around, letting a finger run up and down his arm. “Besides, it’s hardly my fault when they’re so comfortable.”

And they are indeed comfortable. The shirts are too big for her, hang loosely off her limbs, but his scent clings to them — sandalwood, a hint of pine, and sure, a twinge of smoke sometimes — and when she wears them, well, it’s as if he’s right there with her. They make her feel protected, in a way she can’t quite put into words.

“Oh, I’m hardly complaining, sweetheart,” he drawls, a hand sliding down from her stomach and falling between her legs, fingers gripping her inner thigh. “Not when you look so damn good in them.”

Lips ghost along her neck, sending flutters of heat coursing through her veins, and when he drags his tongue over the scar, she lets out a tiny gasp. Turns in his embrace, hooks an arm around his neck, and kisses him.

His mouth opens to her easily and she feels herself being lifted, strong hands clutching her thighs as he holds her effortlessly. Cordelia wraps her legs around his middle, presses in tight, and lets her other hand settle on his chest, over his heart. Feels the steady beat of it increase, almost matching her own. Runs her other hand through his hair, nails grazing the scalp, and hears the rumble of pleasure in the back of his throat.

Mason’s mouth leaves hers to trek down her neck, tongue lapping over her pulse, across her collarbone, and then back up, teeth grazing the shell of her ear. It’s the last one that gets her, has her moaning, a jolt of pleasure and heat both shooting straight to her core. She can feel the fire growing inside of her, flames spreading out and gathering between her legs.

She can also feel the smug smirk gracing his lips and she huffs, pushes his head away and locks eyes with him.

“Bedroom.”

Hunger flashes in those gray eyes and the grin he gives her is practically wolfish. He kisses her again, their teeth clacking together briefly at the ferocity of it. With ease, he turns, still holding her firm in his grip, and walks them back to her room.

To his credit, Mason stumbles only once or twice on the way, and each time he does, they break the kiss, laughing together. The sound makes her heart swell. That he is here and so easily able to laugh with her, his guard down completely, it means more than the sex ever could — and the sex is damn good.

With a skill borne by experience, he turns on the lights, and the bedroom is filled with a soft, warm glow. She’d replaced the overhead lights weeks ago, trading them out for a few strands of fairy lights, hoping that they would be easier on his senses. Same reason for the blackout curtains, actually.

A simple change, and one she is happy to make, if it means he can feel comfortable here. And the look on his face when she told him, well, it’s something she keeps tucked away in her heart, under careful lock and key.

He sets her down when they reach the bed and when she feels the edge of the mattress knock against the back of her knees, she lowers herself onto it, stares up at him and smiles. Bathed in the bloom of the lights, Mason looks almost ethereal, like a god straight out of a myth, and not for the first time, Cordelia wonders what she ever did to deserve this.

To deserve him.

He steps back then and works himself out of the pants and  _ oh _ . Now something else fills her senses, hot and electric. A wanting, a  _ needing _ , that leaves her aching and a flush creeps along her flesh, over her cheeks, her chest, and spreads lower. Her heart and pulse are racing and she knows he hears them both, sees the grin spreading across his face.

Mason closes the distance between them and bends down, hands bracing on either side of her, so close but not quite touching. “See something you like, sweetheart?”

“Don’t tease me,” she says, throat dry and breath turning shallow when he tips his head, tongue licking a stripe down her throat, from her jaw to the base. Her fingers clutch at the edge of the bed and she shivers.

“But teasing you is so much fun,” he counters, words spoken against her throat, before he’s gone, pulling away, eyes raking over her. “I want to see you,” he says, barely above a whisper, and all she can do is nod.

With shaking hands, she grabs the hem of the shirt and lifts it up, over her head, and off. Tosses it to the floor and shivers again, cool air rushing over her exposed skin, sending a prickling of goosebumps dancing along her flesh.

Fingers curl around her chin and tilt her head up, gray meeting hazel. Mason stares at her, a flash of something flaring to life in his gaze, and then his lips are on hers, heavy and insistent, and when his tongue slides into her mouth, she drinks in the taste of him.

His hands settle at her waist and he pushes her back, further onto the bed, her own fingers scrambling to find purchase in the sheets. Guides her down, until she is on her back and he is above her, before he breaks the kiss.

She lifts her hands, fingers tracing the pattern of freckles dusted along his cheeks, knowing the formations by heart — just like the constellations she can name from memory — and watches as his eyes flutter closed, feels him lean into the touch. But then his eyes snap open and one of his hands shoots forward, grabs her wrists and holds them together, above her head.

Mason lets his eyes travel the length of her and his lips part, pupils growing wider. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, voice like a growl, and she bites her lip, the sound of him only fanning the flames now raging within her.

“Mason — ”

“I want you.”

Three words, simple and concise, but they send her heart into a frenzy. There is a weight behind them, left unspoken, and she breathes in, feeling as if she is drowning, and says, “You have me, always.”

His mouth begins a pilgrimage across her body. He starts at her lips and works his way down, along her chin, over her throat, and then further still, ghosting between breasts and lingering over her heart. They move again, at her stomach, and he follows the path downward. Sinks to his knees and lets go of her wrists, hands now used to spread her legs.

Those long, precise fingers curl into her thighs, thumbs tracing circles against the hot skin, and when lips ghost along the dampness coating her, she whines, a high needy sound. Grabs at the sheets beneath her and tries to shift only for him to lock her in place. His tongue rolls over the wet flesh and her hips buck, another whimper leaving her.

He’s so close to where she wants him, and he knows it. He’s teasing her. Like he always does.

“You’re already so wet,” he purrs and she pants, the words another jolt to her core.

“Well, you tend to have that effect on me,” she says, tries to sound flirty or playful, but only manages a breathless gasp.

Mason chuckles, satisfied with the answer, and then hooks a finger into the hem of her underwear. Tugs and she lifts her hips to help with the effort. They slide down her legs and are off, thrown over his shoulder, and finally, she is laid bare before him. Cool air hits her heat and leaves her dizzy, mind thrumming in desire.

He runs his hands down her legs, curls them under her knees, and lifts, placing them over his shoulders. She swallows, heels knocking against his back, and tries not to wiggle, anticipation setting every nerve in her body abuzz. He plants wet, open-mouthed kisses all along her inner legs, one and then the other, lets his teeth glide along the skin.

“Mason, please,” she says, sure she is about to combust into flames.

“Please what, sweetheart?” He asks, so damn casually.

“Touch me.”

There is a quiet growl and then, finally, he presses his mouth against her center. A tongue rolls over her clit and Cordelia nearly leaps into the air, lips opening in a broken cry. She reaches down, slides her fingers into his hair, and holds onto him, needing the contact. He hums against her, digs his thumbs into the space where her legs meet her body, and strokes, sending little shockwaves sparking through her.

He takes his time, drags his tongue down through the folds and back up, tasting her, drinking her in slowly. Desire coils within her, like a white-hot brand, and she is panting, lungs aching for air. Scrapes her nails along his scalp and, in response, his lips close around her clit. Briefly, her vision goes white, and her hips roll up to meet his mouth.

When the first finger slips into her, she gasps, his name tumbling from her lips, and as the second joins, she arches, heels digging into his back. “Mason,  _ oh _ ,” she breathes, eloquence failing her, the need for more overriding anything else.

His fingers curl, crook upward, and the fire inside of her roars, flames erupting across every inch of her. He fucks her slow, teasing out every drop of pleasure, and she wants to cry, to beg him for more, but the only thing she can say is his name, over and over, like a mantra.

Then, his mouth leaves her, pressing a kiss to her leg, and she huffs loudly in protest, knowing the smirk is there without needing to see it.

“You taste so fucking good,” is all he says before his mouth is back at her cunt and finally, mercifully, he is giving her what she wants. 

His pace builds, tongue and fingers working her pliant body into a hysteria, mind fraying at the edges. A pressure builds deep inside of her and spreads out, muscles tensing and burning. She’s getting close, so tantalizingly close, tilts her head back and lets her eyes slip closed. So close, yes, the electricity building and — 

He slows down and she can feel that wave falling, like the tide slipping away from the shore, and her eyes snap open, looking down at him.

“Mason, please,  _ please _ ,” she pleads, wanton and frantic, past caring. “Please, Mason, I need — ”

“What do you need, sweetheart?” He looks up at her with dark, hungry eyes, and she nearly breaks. 

“You, please, I need you.”

Mason drops his head, drags his tongue over her clit, sucks it, and lets his fingers increase in momentum. He’s so good at this, knows her body and how to work her into a frenzy, driving her so close to the edge only to pull back. Knows that no matter how she whines or begs, she loves it, adores the thrill, the desperation.

All it takes is another curl of his fingers and his tongue swirling at her clit and she falls apart, vision turning white. Her body goes taut, back arching as she lifts off the bed, hands tangling in his hair to keep herself tethered. His mouth stays on her as she rides out the climax, moaning his name in a lilting crescendo, as if it were the only word left in her extensive vocabulary. 

He is the only thing she knows, at this moment.

She comes down gently, body loose and languid, and feels like she’s floating. Cordelia sinks back into the bed and watches as Mason leans back, lifts his fingers, and licks them clean. The sight sends a whole new wave of heat crashing over her and she lets out a breath, smiling despite herself.

“Why do you do that?”

“Like I said, sweetheart,” he says, lifting himself off up and over her, one hand settling beside her head and the other on her stomach, trailing up. “You taste good. Shame to let it go to waste.”

She tries to speak, but he cuts her off.

“Besides, why do  _ you _ always swallow when you blow me?”

Now she  _ knows _ her face is red, the shade probably matching her hair, and she turns away from his gaze. “I just — it seems rude to, you know, spit it out,” she mutters and when he laughs, he leans down, nose brushing against the crook of her neck, followed by his lips.

“Well, there you go,” he murmurs, “I don’t want to be  _ rude _ .”

“You’re such a jerk, sometimes.”

“Never said I wasn’t, sweetheart.”

She clicks her tongue and then gets an idea, smiling. Raises a hand to his abdomen and slides it down, between his legs, fingers brushing against his cock. Mason hisses right next to her ear and his hips buck into her touch, the hand on her stomach gliding down to curl into her hip.

Cordelia knows how he likes to touch himself — she’s a quick learner, after all — and she uses that knowledge as she strokes him. Rubs a thumb over the head, swirls it, and then curves her wrist  _ just so _ on the down stroke, to the base and back up. He moans, an intoxicating sound, and rolls into her hand. His breath coats her skin, warm and a little wet, and she can feel her own body coming back to life.

She turns her head, lips next to his ear, and says, “I want you inside of me.”

He snarls, so deep she can feel the rumble of it down to her toes, and bites the spot between her neck and shoulder, hard enough that she knows it’ll leave a mark. Mason plants wet kisses up her throat, sucking at the pale flesh, littering her with more proof of his presence. Showing her as his. The thought makes her giddy.

When she pulls her hand away he whines —  _ whines! _ — and she gives him a sweet smile. Pushes herself up and grabs his shoulders, forcing him back. He catches her intent right away and drags his teeth along his bottom lip, kisses her, and moves to lie back onto the bed. Settles himself back against the mound of pillows and she follows.

She climbs astride him, straddles his lap, and lets her hands fall from his shoulders, sliding down his chest. “I want — ” she teases out the words, nails leaving pale trails against his tanned skin, connecting little lines between the freckles. Dares to look back up at his face and feels her heart stutter in her chest, the breath leaving her.

He stares back at her, pupils blown wide, and those eyes remind her of a storm cloud rolling in, dark and wild. And yet, in that gaze, she sees so much — hunger, desire, but also something else. Soft, tender in a way that makes an entirely different kind of warmth blossom in her chest, and Cordelia smiles, hand resting over his heart, letting the rhythm of it fill her.

“Tell me, sweetheart, tell me what you want.”

“You.”

A single word, spoken quiet, but with a weight not even he can deny. His eyes widen, lips parting, and then he is moving, too fast for her human eyes to track, sitting up to meet her. Mason curls a hand at the back of her neck and eliminates the gap between them, captures her lips with his own in a kiss that is utterly consuming and sets her body alight.

She rolls her hips and he growls, the sound swallowed by her mouth, his hand at her neck tightening. Cordelia laughs and leans over, balancing herself as she swipes one of the condoms off her nightstand — a necessary item, with this vampire around — and tears it open, fingers shaking, impatient with herself.

He places warm, wet kisses along her neck and shoulder as she tugs out the condom and reaches down between them, rolling it onto him, liking the way he shudders at the touch, nipping her shoulder. Then, her hands are falling further down, resting atop his thighs and he tilts his head back to look at her and it is enough to nearly drown her. She lines herself up and, slowly, sinks down onto him, steadily, and oh,  _ oh _ , the sound he makes is music to her ears.

“Fuck,” he gasps, hands moving to grab her waist as she takes him in deeper.

Time slows to a halt around them. She bumps their foreheads together and they breathe in, then out, eyes locked. Sweat begins to bead on their skin and when he kisses her, it is soft, lazy, yet filled with a need that is more than simple lust. His tongue slides over her own and she lifts up, almost to his tip, and then falls back down.

Mason’s hands move from her waist to cup her ass and she rocks into him, arms winding around his neck.

“You feel so good,” he pants, lips inches away from her own, kissing her between each word. “Fuck, Cordelia.” Hearing her name, the way he says it, sends a bolt of desire rippling down her spine and she moans, burying her face into the crook of his neck.

He thrusts up into her and she gasps. “Mason, yes,” she moans and rolls her hips again, matching his action with her own. It takes a second or two, for them to adjust, to find a sync, but they do. 

They always do.

As she rides him, pace escalating, he leaves a trail of kisses across every patch of skin he can reach. Down her neck, over her collarbone, across her shoulders, and down her chest, unable to get enough of her, restless in his need for her. He meets all of her motions with his own, their rhythms matching, and when she dares a look at his face, she can see the pleasure written there.

His eyes flutter close and then open, lips parted as he fights to catch his breath, and  _ damn _ , but he’s gorgeous like this. There is something powerful, and a little seductive, at knowing she is responsible for these reactions. That she, a mere human, can elicit such a response in someone like him — a powerful vampire, melting in her hands.

One of his arms lifts and hooks around her waist, pulls her flush against him, and a hand slips down between them. Two fingers swirl around her clit and she moans, lips and teeth at his neck now, leaving marks of her own.

“Come on, Starlight,” he croons, the rare nickname slamming into her so hard it nearly knocks the air from her lungs. “Come for me, sweetheart, you’re so close now.” And she is, so very close, feet almost dangling off the edge.

So, she leaps. Comes undone in his lap, hands grasping at his back and stars exploding in her vision as the wave crashes over her. Cries his name once, then twice, then three more times. Lips press against the side of her head, over her cheek, mouthing words she doesn’t hear.

He fucks her through the orgasm, rides her through it, and there is something almost soothing about his motions, gentle in a way she knows others would never think to associate with him. A tenderness, one he saves for her and only her.

Even as she floats down from her high, she keeps rolling her hips, and oh, she knows he’s close. Can hear it in the way he breathes, huffing in shallow pants. In the way his hands roam every inch of her now, grasping at her, using her as an anchor, a lifeline. She puts her arms around his neck and holds him close.

Feels him whispering words into her slick skin, lips moving at a rapid pace, but she makes out three words — knows the shape of them, even if she cannot hear them — and they strike her like lightning, heart nearly stopping before going wild in her chest. The words ring through her and she grasps at them, nestles them deep inside of her, holds them close and vows to never let them go.

A sound rips through him, primal and broken, and he’s moaning her name into her neck, against her ear, as he comes. One of his hands settles at her lower back and the fingers dig into her skin, hard enough to bruise, but she welcomes the contact, shivers at it, and this has him gasping, hips rising to meet hers one last time.

Then, he slumps, body relaxing, and he leans back. Takes her with him as he settles into the pillows and she shifts, feels him slip out of her with an almost inaudible  _ pop _ , and curls into his side, an arm thrown over his stomach. Hooks one leg over his and feels him pull her even closer, fingers trailing through her damp hair.

The action is a lull and Cordelia rests her chin against his chest. Looks up at him and when he meets her gaze, a silent understanding passes between them. She smiles, soft and open, and tucks her head into the crook of his neck, eyes closing.

“Bet you won’t have any nightmares after that,” he teases, sleep creeping into his tone, and she giggles. A kiss against her forehead and then, “Get some sleep, sweetheart. You’ve definitely earned it.”

The smile is still on her lips as she lets slumber pull her back, her mind filled only with him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Day 6! And the second smut of the batch! I love me some soft!Mason, but I mean this is Mason so smut was an eventuality lol Really enjoyed writing this, and I like how it turned out, so I hope he's not too ooc here.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Kudos and/or comments are very appreciated, and if you want to, you can drop by my tumblr! I'm elmshore over there as well.


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